Summer semester paradox: Light course load, heavy existential crisis

You know that sucky feeling when you realize the person you met online is not the person who shows up in real life? That was basically my summer semester experience last year.

But instead of one bad date and the awkward “I’ll call you later,” you are locked into three months of expensive textbooks and false promises for a manageable semester. 

You would think that signing up for a light summer course load would be a recipe for relaxation. After all, it’s just two or three classes sandwiched in between patio season and Instagramming your day at the beach, right?

Wrong.

Somewhere between the first and third week, your “light summer semester” quietly shapeshifts into an existential sinkhole, sucking in all your energy, motivation, and basic understanding of why you thought this was a good idea in the first place. 

The illusion of “light” in a “light course load”

My initial belief on taking three summer courses was that during the long days of summer, it will be like a breeze. I thought I’ll have more than enough time to work on my assignments and that my chill, shorter classes would mean less work.

But this daydream was crushed very instantly when I realized the smaller classes also meant good luck hiding when you miss 30-page readings, or in my case, the first half of Shakespeare’s Hamlet.

In theory, fewer classes should mean less stress. In practice, it’s a speed run through Dante’s nine circles of academic hell — only with a bit of air conditioning.

Seasonal brain fog

I like to think that there is a reason why many animals slow down in the summer. It’s too hot to think existential thoughts like “What is my GPA?” or “Why am I paying $1,600 to cry into an iced coffee?” (It’s that figure times three if you are an international student.)

Yet, we have to drag our sunburned bodies to 8:00 am lectures and try to sound intelligent while looking longingly at the beautiful sunny day through the window when talking about Plato’s Allegory of the Cave. This is all while we can’t even remember where we parked.

The bottom line? Summer isn’t built for productivity — it’s built for melting into a lawn chair and pretending emails don’t exist.

Isolation and FOMO

Meanwhile, your social media feed is a montage of road trips, lake days, and “Hot Girl Summer” energy, while you’re stuck indoors trying to format citations correctly.

Summer classes have a weird isolating effect, you feel both hyper-aware that the world is having fun without you and also too tired to do anything about it. It’s the ultimate FOMO — fear of missing out — paradox. You’re jealous of a life you’re too academically trapped to participate in, but simultaneously too emotionally exhausted to care about.

And let’s be honest — summer is the worst possible time to try to be an academic weapon. The human brain was not designed to absorb APA formatting while melting in 30 C heat.

Every part of summer — beach weather, long evenings, mosquitoes the size of SUVs — screams at you to abandon your laptop and embrace your chaotic side. Sitting indoors writing essays while your friends live their best summer is a level of self-control normally reserved for monks and endangered tortoises.

It’s not you, it’s the system

If you ever wonder why taking two classes in the summer semester feels harder than a full course load ever did, you’re not failing — you’re just experiencing the full-body betrayal of trying to be academically responsible during the most irresponsible season.

And hey, try to make the best of it. Sure, maybe I’m sugarcoating the fact that you’re already locked in for the semester, but honestly? Beyond the academic stuff, I made real friends and connections during the summer semester — ones that are still benefiting me today.

So maybe it’s not a totally terrible idea after all. Either way, good luck and don’t forget your sunscreen — you’ll need it for both the UV rays and burning existential dread.